Fading Capillary Lights
by Apalapucian
Summary: a series of unrelated james x lily drabble/oneshots.
1. Fascination

**fascination**_  
_

* * *

_just a passing glance, just a brief romance_

* * *

Lily drives.

She drives because no one would stay with her and James in the back, no matter how much they both insisted it wouldn't be a problem for anyone who did. That they promise they'd keep the cuddling to a minimum. Or the snogging. Or the hushed giggles. The usual. But then it looked like it was going to rain, and it was most probable that she would need his arms around her and he would need her lips on his neck; so even to them their promises sounded half-hearted. No one bought any of it. Sirius and Peter were practically having a wrestling match on the side of the street over the bloody passenger seat. Real mature, right? In the end, Remus turned to James and Lily, sighed, pulled out his most exasperated, 'I'm really exhausted so _please_ do something about these goons' look—and they relented.

She drives also because Remus is tired; he didn't get off last night as planned, and he said he was just going to sleep in the car. Because Sirius can't be trusted with his music preferences. Because James needs constant reminding not to murder the accelerator. Because the last time Peter was behind the wheel, they fell into a shallow ditch. Short attention span. He couldn't for the life of him help taking his eyes off the road every time any of them spotted and pointed at something even remotely interesting, which James and Sirius unfortunately did a lot.

Lily has long noticed how they have too much pent up energy for being in such a cramped space for a relatively long time. It's entertaining to her, how they can't defray all that flurry evenly throughout the entire trip. They use up all the excitement in the first few hours—the loud, off-key singing, the car games, fights over the stereo, the enthusiastic prank recounts, complete with exaggerated additions and Remus's muttered corrections, the charades, the neverending crackle of potato crisp wrappers ripped open—and the next thing she knows Remus's head is thudding against the fogged-up window, Sirius's is falling on Remus's shoulder, and Peter is slumping down the back of James's seat.

"Who's that?" James asks quietly as a new song comes on, straightening up and rubbing his eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest and watches the road. It's getting dark, the groves on either side of them are a rougher, denser wall now, blacker than green, the sky struggling to display the remnants of a picturesque sunset they can't see from this stretch of the highway.

"Nat King Cole," says Lily. She smiles. She used to dance with her dad to this song. Christmas, cinnamon cookies, feet on tiptoes keeping up on the carpeted living floor. She imagines, wonders if her daughter would dance with James like that too someday. She hopes she would. "D'you like it?"

"Yeah." And then he grins, bites his lower lip to keep his smug huff quiet, although she can't see it all, and adds, "It's nice to make out to, I reckon."

She snorts, reaching out blindly to hit his arm.

Peter is startled, snores particularly loud at the sound. Sirius jumps at Peter's racket, accidentally nudges Remus, whose head hits the window. It all lasts about three seconds, and no one wakes up.

"Idiots," says James, craning his neck to watch them. And then he yawns again.

"You can sleep if you want, you know," says Lily.

"Nah, I'm good."

"Well, alright."

"Hey, Evans?"

"Hm?"

"I… really like this song."

"Me too."

The sun has set completely. It starts to drizzle. Lily shifts her position to relax her back more, feeling perfectly content with the hum of the car, the rolling patch of concrete ahead, and the company of her favourite gits in the world.

"Think we can dance to this on our wedding?" James mumbles, and she has to grip the wheel tight to not swerve onto the other lane.

She risks a wide-eyed glance at him—James Potter in that bright, striped, stag-patterned sweater she gave him for his birthday, with his arms still over his chest, glasses almost falling off, and… oh, _what the hell—_eyes closed, mouth open, head hung and nodding off towards the window, bloody _asleep _right after such a… a ridiculous, grand, totally unexpected statement—

Her eyes reluctantly drag themselves back to the road. She shakes her head and chuckles to herself.

_Asleep! _Goodness. What an idiot.

_Her _idiot.

She hums the rest of the song and grins the rest of the way.

* * *

_it was fascination, i know, seeing you alone with the moonlight above._


	2. Stay

**stay**

* * *

He keeps murmuring her name.

She doesn't sleep, not at first, just sits by the bed and holds his hand, runs her fingers through his hair every five minutes. She's mad at him. Double shift for the Order, he insisted, practically stumbling through the door last night. Pale, bruised, lower lip cut. No one else was around the area when they got the tip. Naturally, he volunteered to check it out. Rained down on, no sleep, no meals for hours. Now he's shivering and delirious and muttering in his sleep.

"You're an idiot," she tells him, shoving his stubborn fringe up his head. "I married an idiot."

Still, when he stirs, moans a garbled protest at some unseen adversary in his dreams, Lily shushes him and leans from her seat to kiss his cheek, until it's her name tumbling out of his lips again.

* * *

She comes back from the bathroom and he's off the bed, leaning against the wardrobe, buttoning up a new shirt.

She sighs from the doorway. "James."

"Hm?" His fingers fumble over the buttons, shaking, and he's wearing his slippers all wrong.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to build that window seat."

"What?"

"I promised you I'd… oh, shit, sorry." He has stumbled sideways, struggling all this time to stay upright, knocking down the lamplight on the bedside table. The shards glitter in the late afternoon light, awaiting his clumsy foot on the floor. "I'll… I'll fix that. Promise. Later. I… Where's my wand?"

Lily walks over to him, sets the towels down on the table. Careful not to tread over the glass, she wordlessly guides him by the arm towards the bed.

"Lily—"

"Shut it."

* * *

His eyes are closed the moment he's laid down. Lily pulls the sheets up to his chin.

"You're cross with me," he mutters.

"I am, yeah."

She stands up to get some fresh towels from the kitchen, but she stops on the threshold when she hears him shift in the bed and whisper-groan: "Stay."

So she walks back in and sits beside him, clasping his shivering hand until he falls asleep.

* * *

She wakes up to fingers gently stroking her hair;, having fallen asleep sitting beside the bed. It's only been two hours or so since she's crashed. Her neck and arms feel sore… Doesn't matter though; her husband is awake, eyes alight. His smile is apologetic. He's sat up, slouched on the pillows against the headboard.

It's morning, and he looks better. He looks himself.

"Still mad?" he asks her softly, voice still hoarse.

"Yes," she says, pursing her lips, narrowing her eyes. "Very mad."

He nods. The smile doesn't leave his face when he holds out his arms for her.

She doesn't wait a second. She gets on the bed and crawls into his embrace. The exhaustion catches up the moment he draws her close, homing in on her limbs and fogging up her mind, and his heartbeats promptly start lulling her to sleep. Somehow, she knows he knew this would happen.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, resuming combing his fingers through her hair.

"S'alright."

"I won't be out there for a while, okay?" he promises.

"You better." Her eyes are already drooping.

James's lips on the top of her head is the last thing she feels before she dreams.


	3. Bullseye

**bullseye**

* * *

It's almost funny how his face is contorted in utmost concentration. Narrowed eyes, tongue between his teeth, fingers firm as they test the dart back and forth. He throws it, and she swears she hears a swoosh as it flies through the air. But she doesn't. It only takes a split second, after all, just half a heartbeat—before there's a thud and he's whooping and putting an arm around her. He grins. Her eyes return to the dart, at the bright pink mess around it, flat and floppy in the middle of the colourful balloons.

"How do you _do _that?"

"I've got good aim," he says, winking at her. The man behind the counter begrudgingly hands them a stuffed toy, and they both burst out laughing when they notice the antlers. "Well, look at that."

Later, he leans in and cups her face, and she swears she hears violins play. It takes a split second, half a heartbeat with his name teetering on the tip of her tongue—before there's a gasp and his lips are on hers and (damnit) she's fallen in love.

Well, look at that. This boy sure does have good aim.


	4. Bees and Robins

**bees and robins**

* * *

"He missed dinner," announced Lily upon entrance to the Common Room. She slumped down on the couch near the fireplace, resting her head on her hand. "_Again._"

"It happens, Evans," said Sirius, distracted, his eyes determinedly on the muggle chess board on the floor in front of him.

"But it's been two days," groaned Lily.

Sirius made his move. Remus, who sat across him, cocked his head to one side to see a better angle of the board. "That's just James, Lily," he muttered. "He'll come around."

"He wouldn't tell me what's wrong, though," insisted Lily. "I mean, I'm his girlfriend, you would think he'd…"

Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance, and Lily, who did not miss it, reckoned they hadn't meant to by the way they immediately shifted their gaze. She narrowed her eyes at them and hastily sat down on the floor beside Remus.

"Spill," she ordered, nudging him.

"Pete's in the kitchens," said Remus, after looking at her long and hard in deliberation. "He's on hot chocolate duty."

"Marshmallows and some cinnamon rolls, yes," affirmed Sirius. "That's where he is. You caught us, you win, we're sorry. Make your move, Moony."

"I'm not talking about Peter and you both know it."

Remus sought Sirius, who merely raised an eyebrow at him.

"You know I have a right to know!" said Lily.

Remus sighed. "Fine… Padfoot?"

"Oh, no, mate. It's either James himself or someone else not named Sirius Black, I'm afraid."

Remus rolled his eyes and conceded. "He got rejected by the Magpies on Sunday," he told Lily, leaning over and finally making his move.

"Magpies? As in… the birds?" Lily's expression soured. "Is that a Marauder code for something?"

"Montrose," said Sirius. Lily still looked puzzled, however, and Sirius sighed in exasperation. "National Quidditch team. Montrose Magpies? No? Merlin, Evans. They're not the best, in my opinion. A bunch of half-lunatics, really. And their tactics are thoroughly predictable these days, but they do have the most winning streaks in league history so I guess I understand where the fascination's coming from…"

"The letter specifically said it wasn't that they thought he wasn't good, they just didn't feel comfortable admitting someone without experience outside school leagues," explained Remus. "It wasn't anything personal. No other seventeen-year old could have gotten in. At any rate, Prongs still took it badly."

"Oh, James…"

"Give him time," suggested Sirius. "My turn, Moony, yeah?"

"Yeah, yours—Lily, look, he'll be fine. It's Quidditch. He's just a little extra sensitive about that. But he'll be alright."

"But why didn't he tell me?"

"He's just—" Remus began, but Sirius cut him off.

"He's embarrassed." He regarded Lily with a curious expression. "He thinks you'd think it's petty."

The redhead looked mildly affronted. "Of course, I wouldn't think—do _you_ lot think I'd think it's petty?"

No one answered.

"Because I wouldn't," said Lily firmly, but was continued to be answered with silence. "Oi! I _wouldn't_!"

"Of course, you wouldn't," allowed Sirius. "Although—I mean, only if you're willing, of course—there _is_ something you can do to cheer him up…"

"There is?" asked Remus, shooting Sirius a meaningful look. Lily unfortunately missed it this time.

"Yeah," said Sirius eagerly. "You see, our James is a Stinger."

"He's a what?" Lily asked, as Remus turned his attention to the board once more.

"His second favorite team's the Wasps—that's Wimbourne for you, Quidditch dummy," proceeded Sirius. "He also sent in an application, and I'm pretty sure he's going to receive a response from them any day now. We try to occasionally give him… you know, support and all, but since that thing with the Magpies he wouldn't hear any of it. At least not from us. Just shuns the subject off, the prat. But he obviously needs it."

Lily considered this piece of information. He turned to the other marauder. "Remus?"

"He does need it, yeah," said Remus quietly.

Lily bit her lower lip in thought, took a deep breath, and then pursed her lips. "Right. The Wasps. So what do I do?"

A grin broke out on Sirius's face.

* * *

James's hands found his pockets as he rounded a corner. His fingers found the edge of the envelope at once, and he started fiddling with it as he walked back to the Common Room, his lips upturned in the slightest. He knew he had been acting stupid lately, and he couldn't have helped that even if he tried, but he thought he probably still owed his mates—and Lily, _especially_ Lily—an apology.

He was choosing how best to phrase that conversation with his girlfriend when he realized there was someone standing at the end of the hallway, and he couldn't quite make out who… wait, _what_ it was. It was human-sized, alright, but too bulky and oddly shaped to be properly human. He slowed his pace down and fished out his wand, just in case, squinting in the dark. "Excuse me," he called out with the authority of Head Boy. "Hey, what do you think you're…"

He trailed off, recognizing (or not?) who it was. "Lily?" he asked, his face that of utter confusion. "What are you… doing?"

She was wearing a yellow and black striped costume, so stuffed it was thrice her size, and she had a matching antennae headband over her shockingly red locks. She was blushing.

"I… what's up?" James asked to fill the awkward silence.

"Hi."

"Erm—you're a bee," observed James lamely, dumbfounded.

"I'm a _wasp_," corrected Lily, frowning. "With a capital W… I know about the Robins."

"What—oh. The Magpies?"

"Erm, yes. I meant that. So… surprise!" she grinned up at him and held out her hands to showcase her outfit, but it looked more like an embarrassed grimace to James. "I was told you needed… well, support. And mind you, I really don't think it gets any more supportive than this. So you better be okay right now, James Potter."

He opened his mouth, but he closed it again because he couldn't think of anything to say.

"Stop looking at me like that!" said Lily. "I just thought… okay, this was a bad idea, wasn't it? This is just… I'm a wasp!"

That's when he burst out laughing. Hard. In fact, he was laughing so bloody much he had to lean against the wall and clutch at his sides.

"Stop it," chided Lily, her eyes daggers, but her cheeks as red as her hair. "Will you quit it? _James!_"

"Yes. Okay. Okay… yes, right," James managed between fits of laughter, straightening up. "You're bonkers, did you know?"

"I'm _supportive_," said Lily. "And I hate you."

"No, you don't," said James, grinning. "And I'm not a fan of the Wasps."

Lily's face fell. "What?"

"Puddlemere United. Solid. I don't know where you got the Wasps thing, but I appreciate it." He gestured towards her general look. "You look hot."

"Oh, shut up."

"No, but really."

"Stop it."

He couldn't get enough of her expression. "Godric, I_ love_ you, Lily Evans," he muttered, shaking his head and chuckling.

"This will _not_ be talked of ever again, d'you hear me?"

"I can't believe they got you to wear a bloody wasp costume…"

"I don't—will you stop laughing now, please?"

"Okay, okay…" He took a deep breath and looked away for a second, gathering himself. "So who told you? About the Magpies?"

"Your mates," answered Lily grumpily. "I'm cross with you about that, by the way."

"Sorry," said James at once. He couldn't quite take his eyes off Lily, and he couldn't do that without laughing, so he distracted himself by taking out the letter and handing it to her. "Look."

Lily took it.

It was an acceptance letter from Puddlemere United. "You got in?"

"You heard it first and from me now, okay?" James looked extremely pleased with himself. "I'm not playing yet, but… yeah. Sort of."

Lily smiled fondly up at him. "There's our Captain…" She made to kiss him (she couldn't quite help it when he had that carefree, boyish grin on his face), and he brightened up at once—but then her wasp-stuffed front wouldn't let her properly do it.

James was laughing again before she could glare at him.

"I'm going to _murder_ Sirius Black."


	5. Timely, Untimely

**timely, untimely**

* * *

Lily was losing it.

Just absolutely losing it.

So far in the last twenty-four hours she had managed to knock over and spill a bottle of ink, misspell around three words on her Transfiguration essay, hear more than a dozen things wrong, and now miss Alice and Caradoc's deadline for the prefect patrol anecdotal reports. It was only by half an hour, of course, and Marlene had rolled her eyes at how exaggeratedly horrified she was for having forgotten, but she had never—not once, mind you—missed a deadline for the stupid reports. That and the cumulative little ditz display events, and maybe the fact that the reason behind all these blunders was a boy—was _that_ boy, no less—made her flustered and aggravated. She made her way back to the Head office (the thought of turning in the papers _during_ the prefect meeting had escaped her mind, Merlin), fuming.

So lost in her own head she was, that she had somehow missed the hushed voices easily audible a good distance away from the office. By the time she acknowledged that she, in fact, should have noticed it, she was already on the threshold of the dimly lit room. Oh, how untimely and intruding her presence was, she would realize a heartbeat later.

It was only a good three seconds, as it happens, but there was a lot to be said about it.

Frank Longbottom and Alice Fortescue, if Lily was going to judge by their position (and their rushed excuses and tinted cheeks later), were just about to kiss.

Lily blinked, torn between clearing her throat and bolting as quietly as possible. Before she could make up her mind, the fire crackled in the hearth, waking the three students from their trance.

Frank noticed Lily on the doorway first. Before Lily could shake her head and leave, Frank had jumped away from Alice as if burned by the tongue of flame spit by the fireplace. He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly at Lily.

"I was just…"

"Lily!" greeted Alice, equally flushed. "I—_Hello_. What are you… do you need anything?"

"Erm…"

"I'm gonna go," Frank muttered at once, shooting Alice an apologetic expression and heading towards the door.

Lily blocked his way out. "No!" she exclaimed a little too vehemently. "I mean—sorry. You don't have to leave. I was just going to give our Head Girl these papers—sorry, Alice, forgot them earlier—and then I'm off, and you two… can pretend like I never showed up."

Frank looked away, suddenly thoroughly interested on the couch to the side; Alice bit her lip and then cleared her throat. "No, Lil. Frank was just going anyway," she announced. Frank smiled at her briefly, looked like he was going to say (do?) something but then decided against it, nodded cordially at Lily, and then he was gone.

Lily frowned. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Alice!" she began. "I didn't know anyone else would be here. I thought Doc'd be—"

"It's okay, Lily."

"—here with you, if _anyone_ was going to be with you, but really I thought—"

"It's perfectly fine."

"—it would be just you, because Doc finished his late round last week, yeah? That was last week, right? When he stayed behind? So I didn't _know_—"

"Oi…"

"—you'd be with anyone, in fact I even sort of thought the office'd be empty and I'd just drop the report on the table or someth—"

Alice grabbed Lily by the shoulders and leveled her eyes with hers, her eyebrows arched and and her lips in a thin smile.

"Right," said Lily, catching on.

Alice nodded, chuckling as she let her go.

"I'm sorry!" said Lily again, and the other sighed.

"S'alright."

"But you were—"

"_Lily_."

Lily willed herself to shut up. She held out the papers, which Alice took with an understanding smile and busied herself with for a few silent seconds.

"Alice…" Lily proceeded cautiously.

"Hm?"

"You were going to kiss him, weren't you?"

"Shush, Lily," chastised Alice, but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and kept themselves fixed on the same spot.

"You're blushing."

"I am _not_." Alice shifted sideways and lifted the papers to her face.

"Are you even reading those? Because they're all the 'no incidents' kind."

Alice dropped Lily's documents and faced the younger with a forced baleful stare. "If you don't quit this—"

"Were you already kissing?"

"Lily!"

"His hands were on your _hips_."

Alice turned to face her fully, _her_ hands on her hips. Her cheeks were a furious red, and her eyebrows met in the middle, but her lips were twitching into a smile.

"Well?" Lily demanded, and her grin couldn't have been any wider, the prat.

Alice seemed to be deciding on something, her eyes narrowing and her head tilting to one side—and then she sighed. She looked back down on the reports and jutted out her lower lip.

"Oh, no. What's wrong?"

"I can't be with him, Lils."

"What—why?"

Alice shrugged. "It's… the looming war and all. I don't think it's a good idea."

Lily sidled up closer to her friend. "But that's just all the more reason to take the leap! You two are _obviously_ head over heels for each other—" Alice rolled her eyes, but she was biting her lip to fight off a smile, "—and I don't know how the hell I know but I just _feel_ like he's the one for you, and—"

"But it's dangerous, entering into this sort of attachments these days…"

"Maybe, but it's also dangerous enough for people to look for something—to have some_one_, Alice, to hold on to!"

"But I'm not even sure if he likes me…"

"Of course he bloody likes you; he's Frank! And you're Alice! And you were about to kiss if I hadn't been so distracted—"

"I don't know, I'm still a little scared of everything…"

"What's there to be scared of? We're _seventeen_, we're young and free and in love—well, in so far as this world allows us to be…"

Alice was eighteen, actually, graduating soon, and she noticed Lily's slight error instantly. But she made no haste to correct it, nor was she affected negatively in any way—in fact, she watched Lily with amused, even triumphant eyes.

"—and with things the way they are I think it would be nice to have someone you can turn to when things get too much, you know?"

"Even if he's a little ridiculous?"

Lily nodded firmly. "Even when he's the most ridiculous person in the world."

"Even if he rumples his hair ninety percent of the time?"

"Even if he has the stupidest smirk and the loudest laugh—"

"Even if there's a war breaking, and you're scared, and he's the most absurd person, the last you'll ever dream of falling in love with?"

"Exactly!"

"So you're in love with James Potter?"

"Well, I don't know! I really, really _like_ him, and—" Lily's eyes widened, the green startled and disbelieving against the flickering firelight, her hands coming up to clamp over her mouth. She lowered it down slowly, staring at the floor and grimacing.

Alice was grinning, clutching Lily's report and other more Head Girl papers to her chest, ready to go. "Frank and I have been together for a week," she told Lily, half-chuckling. "But you really should tell James all that."


	6. Are you scared?

**"are you scared?"**

* * *

She doesn't know how or when exactly did she get stuck with him. There was a sudden blast from the street across the Three Broomsticks, a collective stunned silence, and then a chaotic mass of frantic grating chairs, torrential footsteps, and frightened screams.

Then she was hurling spells to save her life, and somewhere in there she knew he must have been, too. Somehow, they found each other in the midst of the pandemonium. She doesn't remember who led who here. But she isn't complaining. Neither is he.

They are quiet except for their own breathing, which they both haven't quite placated yet. They face each other on either side of the alleyway, the meager patch of ground between them damp and rough and filthy. Lily sags slightly out of exhaustion, but she cranes her neck to risk a peek at the street to check if anyone has followed them. She grips her wand tight, but there are no signs of anyone coming. Relieved, she closes her eyes briefly, takes a deep breath, and wills her nerves to calm down.

"Alright?" asks James, his head still leaning towards the street in a surveillance of his own, but his wary eyes already fixed on her. His wand is out too, and there's something about that tight, white-knuckled grip that unexpectedly gets to her, stings her heart a little, makes her want to do something to loosen it up.

"Yes, I'm okay," she says. She knows she should ask him how he is too, and she means to, really, but… but maybe because _she's_ freaking out and she can't help it, something else rolls off her tongue, something frantic, curious: "Are you scared?"

"No," says James at once, but as quick as his reply is the shifting of his hazel eyes.

"_Were_ you?"

He doesn't say anything for a moment. Just when Lily concludes he's simply decided to leave the question unanswered, he mutters, "Yeah."

She studies his face. She's looking for something, but she can't place her finger on what. "I couldn't tell, y'know."

James's eyebrows shoot up in question.

"That you were scared I mean."

He's quiet again. But she can tell this time it's the upset kind. "Well, I was."

And because she doesn't want to rile him up further with her nonsense, she nods and lets it go. "Okay."

But he was on fire back there, she recalls anyway. He didn't miss a spell, effectively got both of them out, and in all of it, until they reached this godforsaken corner of the village, he never let go of her hand. He didn't hold back, he was all in to fight. Even now, by the way his entire body seems to be poised so tensely around his wand, the way he can't stand still, Lily has a feeling he would go running back to the heart of the turmoil if she left him alone and let him go.

"Lily."

She raises her head to acknowledge she's heard, but whatever she expected to see when she looked at him, it wasn't _this_ expression on his face. She's never seen it on him before; ardent, even a little desperate, so intense she feels like bolting and closing the distance between them at the same time—

"I was scared that you'd get hurt."


	7. Sunday Morning Moon

**sunday morning moon  
**_[second person]_

* * *

You open your eyes and the memories come rushing, as fast but as gentle as the moonlight hitting your carpeted floors last night.

You close them again and you feel your heart join the erratic dance of dust motes under the glare of the downcast morning. There's a lot to go through for such a disoriented consciousness, but most of all you remember the way his body felt beneath that sweatshirt you got him for his last birthday… hard and smooth and defined beneath the thin fabric, your fingers taking its time from his stomach to his chest. Your ability to breathe had long been discarded with the blue ribbon that had seconds ago held your red locks up in a sloppy ponytail.

He was very, very warm.

He stood there, still and quiet in all his messy-haired, bespectacled glory, just looking down at you with a raised eyebrow and a quarter of that trademark smirk.

"Are you going to take it off or should I?"

You glared at him and swatted his arm. "You seriously need a lecture on how not to ruin a moment."

"_You_ seriously need to stop killing me."

And then he pulled you in and made you forget all names but his own.

He throws an arm around you now, and your eyes shoot open. He presses his lips against the back of your neck. The pillows and sheets are cold and it starts to pour, but his warm… _everything_ moves behind you and shifts even closer. You smile and lace your fingers with his, watching the droplets of water chase each other on the window panes.

You know that out there the sun rises with the war, but it doesn't matter. Right now you're here, and he's here, and if only until the rain stops and the morning goes you're both young and in love and alright.

He whispers good morning and you can _hear_ his smile, your name in his voice the perfect lyrics to the melody of the rain.


	8. Pocket

**pocket  
**_[muggle coffeeshop au]_

* * *

He walks in one day, today, this boy—this _James Potter_—and she follows his gait, stares long and hard. She doesn't even notice herself doing it.

He's wearing a white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled lackadaisically up to his elbows. Everything about him screams _just out of bed, sorry_—the wayward hair, the sure footfalls, the slow flitting glances—and Lily is drawn to the slight upturning of just one side of his mouth. The bloke just _had_ to wear glasses, though, and Lily reckons that unfairly evens out the raggedness.

Later, on an entirely different kind of weather in a place far from this shop, Lily would lie in bed in his shirt (and nothing else, if you want to know) with his arm around her, thinking of today, of the other heads that whipped around at the sound of the wind chimes. She'd wonder about the other people who spared him a glance when he walked in, of how many other pairs of eyes lingered on his face for as long as she did.

But right now there's just him across the counter biting his goddamn lip like she needs something else to ogle at. She only barely snaps out of it. He's tall. And what a jaw.

"Hi." He waves, and then promptly shoves that hand into his pocket. She wants to laugh. Or hug him. It was the worst wave in the history of ever.

"Morning." With a rather generic smile, she reaches out behind her for the menu on top of the pastry shelf.

His gaze travels down to the laminated piece of paper she drops before him, but he doesn't take it. He scratches his head. "Is Dorcas here?"

Dorcas is late, as it happens. Which is strange, now that Lily thinks about it, because that girl is never late. "No. Mary is, though. She's just back there checking come stuff… and me. I'm here."

His grin is only slightly sheepish. "Yeah, I noticed."

"Great. So can I help you? Besides the whereabouts of Meadowes—Dorcas, I mean."

"Nah, I do know Dorcas Meadowes. We're familiar."

"Oh, okay."

He nods.

She can't quite help it: "Are you her boyfriend then?"

"She's my cousin." The question seems to amuse him.

"Right."

"Lily," he says, and Lily's eyebrows shoot up, but he points at her name tag before she can speak. "Lovely name."

"Pocket," she returns lamely, pointing at his chest, at his shirt _pocket_, good heavens, and she wants to stab herself with a fork.

He nods solemnly, lips twitching. "Yeah. Bit unfortunate."

She looks away to stifle a laugh. And then she clears her throat, noticing a young lady from table four craning her neck to stare balefully at them. One more member of today's ogling team. Three's too much, Lily reckons, and she carries on to disband it. "So. Anything else I can assist you with?"

"Yeah, er…"

To her surprise, he walks around the till to her side of the counter. He grins when he reaches her, rubbing the back of his neck and looking around the work station warily. "Do I get an apron? I'm supposed to start today. Sorry I'm late."

* * *

"He's starting today," Lily hisses, dragging Mary back into the supplies room not long after she emerged from it. Mary's not even done tying her apron up. "What does he mean _he's starting today?_"

"Oh, that's James Potter!" answers Mary after a brief glimpse of their newcomer, letting herself be led back in. She's puzzled at Lily's scandalised glare.

"It's Pocket," calls out James Potter, who can apparently hear them from where he's standing. He's pointing at his chest; he's got a name card pinned now—says 'Pocket', the little son of a pudding—and a black apron similar to Lily and Mary's. He checks his reflection against the sliding glass door of the pastry shelf, adjusts his glasses, and grins contently to himself.

Mary giggles. She nudges Lily, says, "Look at him!", and Lily snaps her fingers irately in Mary's face.

"Who the hell is James Potter?" she asks, voice lower. She leads Mary even farther into the room, just in case.

Mary rolls her eyes. "God, Lily. He's the son of the big boss!"

Lily blinks. "The son…?"

"James _Potter_."

"Well, I don't go about memorizing everyone's names, you know!"

Mary gives her a second.

"Yeah, I should probably change that."

"Yes, you should."

"Why is he here then?" Lily steals another glance at James. He's waiting for customers now; looking around expectantly, hands folded over the counter, smile wide. But there aren't many people today. Thursdays are always the slowest.

"Oh, I don't know," says Mary. "His dad wanted him to have first hand experience handling the company shenanigans, I suppose? Dorcas told me he'd fill in for her today."

"Why didn't you tell me then?"

"I thought Dorcas told you."

"She didn't."

Mary shrugs. "He's kind of cute."

"Why is he here?"

"Why does it bother you so much?"

"I can't work with all the… distraction."

Mary nods, a sly grin slowly plastering itself on her face. "It's the bum, isn't it? It's distracting?"

"No, you prat."

Mary's laugh is muffled against her knuckles. "I don't know. Maybe he's supposed to oversee how the shop's run."

"But his father's corporation's got a lot of branches! He should go oversee the estate or something. The Greenfields hotel! Not this measly coffee shop."

"That would be tedious though, don't you reckon? The estate?" asks Mary. She tilts her head, watches James wait in enthusiastic anticipation over Lily's shoulder. "Maybe he's bored."

"_Bored_."

"Yes."

"He can't just come barging in here because—"

"Hi, good morning!" James pipes from the counter, and Lily turns her attention back to him. She and Mary both watch as he takes the woman's order—compliments them, wishes them a good day, narrows his eyes at the specials board and nods. Not bad.

When he walks over to the shelf, Mary grabs Lily's elbow and pushes her out of the cramped room. "You might want to help him…"

"What?" Lily asks, distracted. James's tongue is stuck between his teeth as he meticulously takes a slice of the cherry chocolate truffle cake. "Why?"

"Well, Dorcas sort of warned me about—"

That's when James drops the tray.


	9. Quidditch Shirt

**quidditch shirt**

* * *

"WHAT DO YOU _MEAN_ IT'S NOT YOURS?!"

"I mean… I don't own it?"

"What do you _mean_ it's…" Lily sat down on the bed opposite, swatting a strand of hair from her face. She glared at Marlene, who looked at her as if she was scared for her sanity—and Lily thought she just might have a reason to be. "You can_not_ be serious, McKinnon," she hissed.

"Erm, I sort of am. Grabbed it by accident two weeks ago in the locker rooms after practice," explained Marlene. "I didn't realize until he asked the team, and I've been meaning to return it. But then you took it, and—"

"Why didn't you tell me all that at once?"

Marlene raised her eyebrows. "The night before last, you were in the common room, and I—"

"You told me, 'hey, Lily! nice shirt'!"

"Yes!"

"I thought you were proud of me for wearing a baggy Quidditch shirt out there! _Your_ baggy Quidditch shirt! Since when was that synonymous to 'hey, Lily,_ that's not mine_'?"

"Alright, Lil, this is ridiculous," said Marlene, going on the defensive. "It could so easily have been synonymous to, 'hey, Lily—_wow_, you're wearing James Potter's shirt!'"

Lily stared at her, incredulous. "In which universe does that ever warrant a wow?"

"I'm guessing in the one where you finally realize you have feelings for him."

"What in the name of—okay, _no_. You're kidding. You have got to be. There's no way. There's… Oh my god, he was there! The other night in the common room… He _saw_ me! And I…" Lily took a deep breath and pursed her lips. "No, I'm not falling for this. You're stressing me out."

Marlene snorted. "Obviously," she muttered. "But look, it really isn't mine."

"Just—why only tell me now?"

"Because the first night I thought—oh, that's really cute! You were trying to catch his attention by wearing his shirt!—"

"Excuse me?"

"—And then when I got here last night you were _positively_ conked out so I didn't get to ask about it." She shrugged. "But then three nights in a row—I mean, even for someone in love I figured that's a bit too much. I had to ask."

Lily considered all this, grimacing and biting her lower lip. She looked away from Marlene. Her own reflection from the dormitory window greeted her, and she stared at it, crestfallen. "I can't _believe_ it," she mumbled, watching herself dazedly shake her head. "Three nights!"

Marlene peered at her and grinned. "He smells that nice, eh?"

Lily whipped around. "It's very… _comfortable_. That's all."

"Mhmm," said Marlene, lying down on her bed. "He's worn it to some of the lighter practice sessions, you know…"

"Oh, shut up."

"Quite a number of times, actually," proceeded Marlene anyway. "You know how it can get grueling? Practice? And it's always James who works the hardest—"

Lily grabbed a pillow and hurled it at her.

* * *

"Potter."

"Hm?" He didn't even look up. Lily took a step forward, watching him scribble a few more lines on the parchment. Thank Godric there weren't many people around anymore.

"I came to give this back."

He tore his eyes away from the table, and although she was expecting that stupid smug grin, it didn't make her any less annoyed by it. She also expected a question at why _she_ was the one returning it and not Marlene, and she had prepared a speech about not wanting him to think it's a big deal, etc etc—but the prat had other ideas. "Are you sure?" he asked. He was biting the inside of his cheek to stifle a laugh.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't give me that, I'm cross with you," she chided. "You saw me the other night!"

James jutted out his lower lip and nodded. "That, I did."

"And it didn't occur to you whatsoever to inform me that I was wearing something of yours?"

He nodded again. "That, it didn't."

Lily narrowed her eyes, failing to keep herself from being so quickly riled up. "You were just… _smiling_ at me!"

He let out a chuckle. "But I'm always smiling at you."

"You looked stupid."

"You looked hot."

Lily crossed her arms. Never mind that she had folded his shirt neatly beforehand; it crumpled and balled itself beneath her fingers. "Let it be known that I wouldn't have even _considered_ wearing it had I known it was yours, and not—as I have very wrongly, _tragically_ assumed—my dear mate Marlene's."

James looked thoughtful, raising a commending finger to point at Lily. "Passionate speech, Evans," he declared sanctimoniously. "I'd give it a nine, except 's a bit wordy. I get it. You have issues with me. Gist taken."

"Is it?" retorted Lily. "Because it's essential for me to be very clear here."

James took his time shifting in his chair and leaning back. "It was twice Mckinnon's size."

"Well, I like sleeping in shirts twice my size! Some girls do. It's not uncommon."

"Right. Duly noted."

"Yes. So—"

"Don't you think it's too early to talk about sleeping habits though? I haven't even proposed yet."

Lily reached over to snatch a book from his worktable and hit him with it.

"Whoa, tame it, Red!" He caught the hardbound volume and took it from her, frowning and massaging the back of his head. "Godric, when aren't you a stray firecracker?"

"When you stop acting like a git, that's when," she snapped at him. She eyed him disapprovingly before turning around with a huff and walking back up to the dormitory.

"Hey, Evans!"

Lily sighed, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. She faced him again, not amused. "_What?_"

"You still have my shirt."

Noticeably red in the face, she hurled the goddamn thing at him. Although not quick enough to escape his hearty, ever-so-boyish laugh, she got out of there fast, not stopping to see him catch it without difficulty (and smile like a bloody idiot for the rest of the night).


	10. Indigo

**indigo  
**_[first person; pov of a death eater; experimental fic]_**  
**

* * *

I have to give it to this Potter boy; that's some heart he's got. Some soul. He's as bloody stubborn as that heinous mop of hair.

Tied down to a chair and reduced to a blubbering map of bruise-purple isles, beaten up in all the ways all existing worlds can come up with, and he still can find it in himself to look me in the eye and smirk.

Where's that coming from? Where the hell is he getting that? Is the thought of her still somehow not dead in his head?

But how could it? After that much time under the Cruciatus?

No matter. All the time in the world. He's going to break. Or die. Or both.

My wand digs deep into his chest. He winces, once, twice, tries to move away by instinct. And then he's still. His tied hands clutch at the narrow, jagged ends of the armchair, cut-adorned wrists straining against his bonds. I wonder how the hell can he still move like this; his arms are in shambles. Nasty bloody cut on the right, fracture on the left. He wouldn't move if he could help it, I can tell. But I doubt he can now, not when only half an inch more and my wand is going to pierce through his torn shirt and mangled skin. Not when the end of my wand will graze his heart, should I carry on; soft and raw and beating, that one second of contact setting every single obstinate vein of his on fire. The slow, arduous struggle of a blunt wand surely is bound to hurt more than the quick slice of a dagger? It's evident in his face. Glasses askew, sweat-glossed forehead, broken jaw. Sunken lines abundant as he strains every muscle, every patch of skin, to resist. But he crumples. Of course he does. Everything about him submits to the pain, to _me_, everything about him save his will. Every time he opens that mouth my anticipation rises for the inevitable begging, the cries of no, please, stop—anytime now; he will indulge me, surely—but it doesn't come. He's all raw screams that leave deep, scarring scratches in his throat and an incessant ringing in my ears.

"I will kill you."

No response. James Potter, frozen and resigned, broken beyond repair at long last.

"But don't worry, it won't take long for your mudblood toy to follow suit."

He moves.

Breathes; fast, shallow, shuddering even in the short second his lungs allow him to exhale. His lips quiver, but it's hard to see beneath all those cuts. Teeth gritted, jaw locked, fists tight. A thin river of red chases the grime and reaches his chin, drops on his chest—one, two, three—just a breath short of my wand. His pale, taut knuckles are white, curiously fetching, against the flickering meager light. He raises his head. I imagine the words are difficult to come by now, what with his head crushed by neverending waves of pain and his throat boasting an intricate pattern of gashes, but I don't have to look long to recognize defiance beneath those cracked spectacles.

He's still here. And she's still with him.

Very well.

I drive the wand deeper. His sternum cracks, and his gasp is sharp, loud against the dark hollow room. I twist the goddamn thing and he screams like the madman I want him to be.

"Crucio."


	11. Last Night

**last night**  
_[apalapucian. tumblr. post/67158690239.]_

* * *

_I love you._

It just came out.

He tasted like peppermint and coffee, and his hands—big hands, calloused and scarred—were splayed on her lower back, firm and tight, drawing her close. She stood on her tiptoes, laced her arms around his neck, kissed his mouth with as much enthusiasm.

And then it just happened.

She felt like flying. Alive. Every nerve in her body crackled, their existence demanding her awareness, and she was going to flare up any minute. He was bloody magnificent. Glasses, dazed eyes, hint of that smug smirk even in his state of shock, little scar on the edge of his brow and all—really, could she have expected anything less? He was perfect, for her anyway, and it was just… it just _came out_. She just said it.

Her head reeled. Mind blank and full to the brim at the same time. His hands steadied her, thank Merlin for that, but she could feel his breaths come in ragged pants, too. He didn't say anything, and both of them stayed still as she eyed his loose tie, mouth slightly open in shock, just as breathless. She'd meant to sigh, just catch her breath, that's all, but—

Fuck.

_I love you._

She hadn't meant it. That was her first thought. And it almost, _almost_ broke the silence, but… didn't she? Really?

_I love you._

It didn't make sense. It shouldn't be happening, she shouldn't have let it happen, because there isn't time, is there, what with everything? But it's here. She felt it. _Feels_ it. She loves him.

In love.  
With him.  
With _James Potter_.

She's never been more sure and scared and ecstatic all about the same thing than ever, and yet—

'Do you love me back?' is what she didn't ask last night, because the way he pulled away, the way he held her by the shoulders and peered at her like she just hexed his goddamn heart out of his chest…

She swallowed, going red, the point of contact between his fingers and her shoulders getting hot—or was that just in her head?—and she stepped away, pulled back from him entirely, before he could say no.

Because how could he answer otherwise? After _everything_? There's a war going on, these are dangerous times, and besides, she's unwittingly held the strings of his affections for far too long. He probably thought… oh god.

She doesn't know what he thought. Doesn't want to to know. Hell, she doesn't know what she ought to think herself.

She walked away.

She didn't apologize. She couldn't speak; any more would be borderline lies, and any more truth than what she just so stupidly, untimely blurted out would be selfish.

_I love you._

She walked away because she loved him and she shouldn't and he probably thought the same, the way he drew back, the shock on his face—_you can't blame him, Lily, you can't_—and because there's no time to explain or to validate or to attempt to take things back.

The world is at war, for Merlin's sake.

_I love you._

There's no time for this.

She knew that.

And, she realized with a pang that left her breathless—the bad kind, oh Merlin, the kind that scraped at her guts and hollowed out her chest—he knew that, too.


End file.
